


Sign of the Times

by sammysmissingshoe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Moriarty, Hurt Sam Winchester, Possession, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammysmissingshoe/pseuds/sammysmissingshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Moran... did say you had a little possession PTSD. Don't worry,' Moriarty leaned in toward Sam's face, disturbingly close. 'I'll be gentle.'"</p><p>When London's most notorious consulting criminal returns from the dead, it attracts the attention of everybody's favourite hunters. What Sherlock fails to realise when he begins his own investigation, that there is a lot more at work than a simple video stuck on replay all over London. Moriarty is back, but he's back in black. *Cue groans*<br/>Set in season six of Supernatural, and after the season three finale of Sherlock.</p><p>Story and chapter titles comes from a Three days Grace Song, Sign of the Times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sun Burns as Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I love Sherlock, and I am just utterly obsessed with Supernatural. But when I go to find crossovers, they just don't seem to have quite what I'm looking for. By which I mean Hurt!Sam. So, I decided to write one myself! And goshdangit, it was hard. Seriously, keeping in character in two different fandoms? Heaven help me.

Sebastian Moran shoved more gravel into the hole in the ground, dirt cramming its way under his fingernails. He stood up, the crescent moon illuminating his dark suit, although it was nothing in comparison to his dark intention. He waited for several more minutes, still not even sure that what he was doing would work, when a new shadow silhouetted on the ground.

If she really was what Sebastian thought she was, then she was far from what he had imagined. She had golden blond hair, which flowed down her back and past her shoulders in a gentle curl. Her black dress hugged her body in all the right ways, highlighting every curve.

A sneaky smile moved in a dance of light words, but in a seductive tone. "Hello, love."

"I take it you know who I am?"

"Oh, Seb, we've all been waiting for you to call. I'm just glad I'm the one that gets to seal the deal."

It had been such a long time that he had been without Moriarty, and this was the way to get him back. Selling his soul to a demon would damn him, but he had been damned long ago. What good is his soul to him now?

"So," she cooed as she moved in close, sliding her hand down his cheek. "What can I do for you?" She asked sweetly as her eyes went completely red.

"Moriarty." There wasn't any pause. "I know you can bring him back. So do it."

"My, my." Her cutesy smile turned to a pout. "You're just no fun whatsoever. But," she let out an over exaggerated sigh. "Yes, I can get your boss back. But, that's not all I can do for him."

That wasn't the answer he had anticipated. He had planned on bringing Moriarty back and paying his due ten years later. "What else are you offering?"

The demon grinned. "I can make him stronger than he ever was before. He'll be more powerful than you can even imagine."

Could that even be possible? It seemed far too good to be true, which meant it probably was. "What's the catch?"

Her expression went back to a disappointed frown. "You just like to skip right over the good stuff, don't you? But you are smart. I'll give you that. Unfortunately, for you anyway, you are right."

"So, what is it, then?"

She smiled as though she was talking about the most natural thing. "You die."

His eyebrows rose. "I already knew-"

"Not in ten years. Right now."

A rush of disbelief and slight fear washed over Sebastian. Moriarty needed him, and he needed to be there for him. But… not as much as the world needed its only consulting criminal.

"And don't worry, Sebbie, we won't leave him all on his own. We've got a nice little replacement lined up after your oh so tragic passing. They'll even use your meatsuit to make Jimmy feel right at home."

If you'd asked him Sebastian wouldn't have admitted it, but he hesitated. "I-I don't-"

"Well make up your mind. My offer won't last long, love." She began making a "tick-tock" sound with her tongue as she started to turn away.

"Alright, fine. But you better keep your promise."

The demon was beside him in a second. Although, against was probably a more appropriate word. "Oh, don't you fuss over that. Once the deal is sealed, I have to follow through with it. So," She grabbed him by the collar of his suit and pulled him close, her hot breath tickling his face. "Let's make a deal."

Sebastian hadn't been planning on there being so much passion in the kiss, but her gentle hand held his face close to hers as her tongue plundered his mouth. After what seemed like far too long, she pulled away from him.

"Hope you like fetch, big boy."

Before he could ask what she meant, she vanished. The last things Sebastian ever knew were the sounds of barking dogs, and the sight of menacing, bloodstained teeth.

* * *

Moriarty was surrounded with flames one minute, then he was on a gravel crossroads, some of the ground tinted crimson. He was greeted by a woman in a sleek black dress, the kind even Irene would appreciate,

"Welcome back to the surface, James."

Playing Jim from IT taught him how to give a friendly smile, like the one he gave her. "Jim, please."

"How was Hell? I haven't been in a while."

Moriarty shrugged. "I thought it would be a bit toastier, but I suppose I was kept rather entertained. I was just beginning to have fun, actually. Still, here I am."

The woman chuckled at him. "You can thank dear Sebastian for that. You must be pretty special to get a soul sold for you."

"That's rather noble of him. Where's he gone off to then?"

She smirked. "Hell. Well, part of him, anyways."

A detached sigh passed his lips. "So soon for one so promising. Suppose it was inevitable."

"You should know though," her manicured fingers trailed down his face and began straightening his tie. "He didn't just bring you back. He asked to bring you back stronger than ever before. Can you feel it inside you?"

"Sweetheart, I've always been the most powerful man in the world, what exactly am I supposed to be feeling?"

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Moriarty's eyebrows went up as he scoffed. "Hell wasn't too big on hygiene, so I'm going to have to say no."

The woman snapped her fingers, and they were both taken to a room with a large mirror in front of them. "Look at your eyes."

Obliging, Moriarty glanced into the mirror. There were no scars from hell, no sign of the tortures he had endured. No mark left on him except for the deep black eyes he had that stared back at him. He'd seen enough of those eyes know that they were those of a demon. An unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome change. By willing his eyes to return to their normal shade, they did.

The woman casually draped her arms over his shoulders and rested her head upon them as well. "Like it?" Her tone was similar to a child presenting a nonsense scribble to their parents.

Moriarty grinned with a new excitement for life. "Oh, yes." With a thought, the mirror started cracking, and then shattered to pieces that he didn't bother dodging. "This will do just splendidly."

The demon nonchalantly plucked a shard of glass from her shoulder. "Careful with the meatsuit, I still got deals to make with this. Enjoy yourself all you want, but do be careful. Hunters will track you down otherwise.

"Honey, authority has never been my strong point. I intend to do whatever I please, and I've no intention of being subtle."

"Fine, don't listen to me, but your new partner will tell you the same thing."

"Partner? I don't do partners, love."

"Sorry, Jimmy, part of the deal. Either suck it up, or you can head right back downstairs. We're even using dear Sebbie's body for you to make you more comfortable. Same body, different occupant."

Another irritated sigh. "Alright, I'll make do then, I suppose. Now run along, dearie, I've got a few friends to say hello to."

A couple of network connections, and a few possessions here and there, and Moriarty's face was on every television, phone, or screen in all of London, mockingly repeating the same four words. _Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_ He stood disguised in the crowd, grinning at the panic and mayhem.

It felt good to be home.

* * *

"Holy crap." Sam said on a breath.

"'Holy crap" what, Sam?" Dean asked as he sat up from his bed. "Find a case?

"Yeah, big, weird one."

"Think it's Eve?"

Sam shook his head, eyes still fixated in his computer screen. "No, but it's huge. So, there was this guy named Jim Moriarty. He called himself a consulting criminal-"

"The hell's that mean?"

Sam finally brought his eyes up, with a semi-disgusted look in them. "He arranged murders. Made them almost unsolvable, he was a monster."

"So how'd he get caught if they're so unsolvable?"

"That's what I was wondering. When I looked up Jim's cases, this came up." Sam turned the laptop towards his brother as he made his way to the table.

"John Watson's blog?"

"Apparently his roommate solves murders and other stuff for a living. Some guy named Sherlock Holmes."

Dean scanned the computer for a few moments longer. "Think they're more than just roommates?"

Sam rolled his hazel eyes. "Dude, John's married… To a woman. And seriously? That's your question?"

"Fine, go on."

"Okay, so, Sherlock solves all these cases. He's like some kind of genius. He's even labeled himself as a, get this, 'High functioning sociopath.'"

"Sounds like he's fun at parties."

"Just, shut up, please? I haven't even gotten to our part of the case yet. So, Jim gets caught, but he doesn't get put in prison. Sounds like the trial was rigged. He's apparently got this huge network that makes him almost unbeatable."

"I take it he got taken down anyway?"

"Not in the way you'd think. Basically Jim was trying to make Sherlock look like a fraud by making him jump off a building-"

"What?"

"Just, roll with it, this is where it gets weird. Jim ends up shooting himself in the head, and Sherlock ends up faking his death, but get this. Jim's back."

"Back? How does one come back from getting shot in the head?"

"Exactly. And he wasn't very quiet about his return. Every screen started showing his face repeating the same message over and over. 'Did you miss me?'"

"Has anyone actually seen the guy yet?"

"Well…" Sam rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Not in person…"

"You said he had a network. Maybe they're just trying to freak everybody out."

Sam gave him a doubting glance. "I don't think so, Dean. It really feels like one of our cases. Can't we just check it out?"

"I don't know, Sammy."

Sam let out a tired sigh. "Dean, please. I just got my soul back, and I'm ready for a real hunt."

Damn those puppy eyes. "Alright, fine. Where are we going?" There was a defining silence, and as long as Dean had been hoping for it, he found no comfort in it. "Sammy?"

"…London."

"Oh hell no! We're not going oversea for a maybe."

Sam waited a moment before further defending his point. "There's something else. Moriarty had this right hand dude named Sebastian. Someone found his body ripped to shreds…"

"…Okay?"

Sam nervously bit his lip. "At a crossroads. And by the time the cops showed up, the body was gone."

Dean's face went from annoyed to pissed in less than a second. "And you didn't think to tell me that earlier?"

"Because I knew you'd try to talk me out of it."

"Damn right I would! You just got back in the game, Sammy, we don't need to be taking on something this big right now."

"Who else is gonna do it, Dean?" Sam argued. "You can't keep me out of hunting when I know that people are dying. If the situation were reversed, would you walk away?"

Dean hates it when Sam's right, which unfortunately is a lot. "Fine, you win. But you're buying drinks after the plane ride."


	2. As the Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a flight over-seas, Sam and Dean get to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. We all know Sherlock tends to be a bit of a d-bag. And Dean has tendency to argue with d-bags. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why I only remember to post at night or really early in the morning. Well, enjoy some Sherlock and Winchester banter! And for the record, Sherlock is a pretty difficult character to write for, so I apolgise for his potential OOCness.

John couldn't believe it, and Sherlock just really didn't want to. _Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

No, they most certainly did not. John had to fight the urge to punch every screen in London to make the unceasing voice stop. He had already flown through every curse he knew mentally, but perhaps one or two (mainly all of them), had slipped out verbally as well.

"We need to find the original source of the video if we are going to track it." Sherlock's voice was far too calm for comfort.

"How the bloody hell are you so okay with this?" John shouted.

"I never said I was, John, but I would like to clear up this matter before it causes a panic. Panicked Londoners give me headaches. It's rather annoying."

"Annoy-" John's head dropped in disbelief, and an attempt not to raise his voice any more than he already had.

"There is still no evidence whether he is truly alive or not. His network may not have been as well dispersed as I had believed. We need to find out whether it was Moriarty, or just a member of the network trying to create a fuss."

John was still uncomfortable with how normal Sherlock was acting. Well, as normal as Sherlock typically acts. He took a deep breath and stared at the ground. The ground was a lot less frustrating than Sherlock was at the moment. "Alright." John huffed. "We'll try to find the source."

That cocky, victorious grin that only Sherlock could pull off made an appearance. "Excellent. We'll start at wherever they project videos on large screens. Hacking into the phones is a simple enough task, the screens would have been much more difficult. John, find out where we need to look."

"You mean the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know?"

"It hadn't been a concern of mine until now, so just do as I ask. The game is on, John."

By the time they had found out where to begin their investigation, two men in suits had already beat them to the scene. Perhaps if it hadn't taken him and John so long to get there, they could have gotten there first. Those panicked Londoners Sherlock mentioned were busy fleeing and creating all sorts of traffic. The two men were inquiring one of the workers about the recent events. The questions they were asking were rather… Odd.

"Did you see anything before the video started playing?" The taller one asked. "Like flickering lights, or maybe black smoke?"

The employee was dumbfounded to say the least. "What?"

"Please," the man asked. "Just answer the question."

"W-well, no. No smoke, no lights. Just a weird blackout, and then the video started playing."

"What about smells? Did you smell anything like rotten eggs, or sulfur?"

The worker just stared at them, and turned to the other partner. "Is- is he serious?"

Neither one of their expressions changed.

"No. I didn't smell anything like that."

The two partners shared a knowing glance. The taller one reached out and handed the employee a white card. "Alright, thank you for your help. Give us a call if you can think of anything else."

" _Stupid Americans. What are they even doing here?"_ Just a few minutes earlier, and Sherlock never would have met them. How much simpler things would have been.

Eavesdropping was a very useful skill of Sherlock's and so he put it to good use.

"Okay," The long haired one started, too long to be an FBI agent or anything of the like. They definitely weren't who they had claimed to be. "So, there was sulfur by the window, but the demon must've been pretty quiet since nobody saw anything."

" _Demons? Are they serious?"_ Sherlock asked himself.

The shorter one spoke. "They could've taken the body with them."

"Why would they do that, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, Sammy. No witnesses that way. Okay, so we're sure it's demons, now we just gotta track 'em down."

" _They really are insane. Not only do these idiots believe in such creatures, but they believe that they are able to hunt them? Morons."_

"Well," the one called Sam said. "If it is Moriarty, or some demons working for him, then they're bound to screw up, and give themselves away soon enough. We just gotta wait for them to make a mistake."

"Alright. Can we get some food then? I'm starving."

" _Morons."_

* * *

"Dean! Do have any idea who that was in there?"

"You mean the weirdo in the stupid coat giving us the eye?"

Sam nodded rather excitedly. "I think that was Sherlock Holmes. We should go talk to him."

Dean groaned. "Why?"

"He's gonna try to work this case. It is technically his, but-"

"But he'll have no idea what he's stepping in." He sighed, knowing that Sam was right… Again. Damn him. "Fine, let's go talk to cheekbones."

"You often notice other guy's facial features?" Sam grinned like the little brother he was, and chuckled at Dean's annoyed glare.

"Just- get in the car, Sasquatch." As mad as Dean pretended to be at the comment, he couldn't help but inwardly smile at the fact that he had his brother back- his real brother. There was the unsynchronized sound of the Impala's doors squeaking shut, and Dean knew that everything was the way it was supposed to be.

* * *

"I can't believe you!" Moran shouted at Moriarty. He had insisted on being called the name of his meatsuit's predecessor. His accented voice did nothing to hide the rage. "You advertised your return?!"

Moriarty shrugged. "I was just saying hello."

"To the whole bloody world! Now you have hunters to worry about!"

"Why should I be afraid of anyone? I am unstoppable now."

Moran scoffed as his demon eyes returned to their normal shade. "You arrogant little prat." He mumbled bitterly. "You don't get it, do you? You've just announced to the whole world that you're still alive, and you didn't think that was going to attract attention? Wrong! I've gotten word that the Winchesters are here because of you!"

Moriarty rolled his eyes in boredom. Boredom always was the problem, wasn't it? "Is that name supposed to scare me?"

Moran's expression alone would have been warning enough. "Yes, it should. They may seem like nothing but a couple of self-righteous punk-asses, but even you can't imagine what kind of pains they really are."

"So end them." It was said as thought it could be the simplest thing.

"Come again?"

Even before he was a demon, Moriarty had mastered the evil smirk. "End. Them."

There was a moment of silence before Moran began laughing in doubt. "You- you think you can kill the Winchesters?"

Moriarty's smile widened. "Easily."

Moran raised an eyebrow, but an eager grin slid onto his face. "I'd love nothing more than to tear out their beating hearts myself, but, unfortunately, I can't do so. At least not on my own. You can help me end them both, slow, and bloody."

Both demons wore the same eager expression. "So," Moriarty said excitedly. "Tell me about the Winchesters."

* * *

221B Baker Street did not really appear to be the home of a genius. More like a drug dealer's… Maybe. There were bullet holes in the wall, and an awkward, semi-disturbing smile face spray painted into the very strange wallpaper.

A woman, Mrs. Hudson, she had so kindly introduced herself to the Winchesters, answered the door for them. She seemed to know what they were doing there and graciously let them into Sherlock's apartment… Er- flat. She was quite nice to the boys, and appeared to have a lot of patience, a quality that was probably necessary when you're around Sherlock Holmes.

Speaking of Sherlock, the Winchester's heard the door to the apartment swing open. They both stood up in anticipation to meet him, although they figured he would get on their nerves soon enough.

Dean was the first to speak. "Hi, Mr. Holmes, we're-"

"Not who you were pretending to be earlier today." Sherlock had cut him off with his deduction that he had managed to do in one breath. "I can tell by the cheap suits you're wearing that you're clearly trying to spend a minimal amount of money, which leads me to believe that you get by without a regular income. You both have the eyes of soldiers, but you've never fought in a war, so you must be in a dangerous line of work. From the way you were talking earlier I can tell that you two are brothers, and that you believe in ridiculous things such as demons and God knows what else. Have I missed anything?"

" _What a dick."_ Dean thought.

Sam, however, was rather impressed. "Well, we don't just believe in that stuff. That 'dangerous line of work', we fight it. We're hunters."

Sherlock didn't seem too excited by that, quite bored, in fact. "Not your typical hunters though. You do appear to be harboring many battle scars though."

"Yeah," Dean remarked snidely. He hasn't expected Sherlock to be such an ass so soon into their meeting him. "Sometimes when you fight evil, it tends to fight back. Now that that's out of the way, can you shut up and listen to us?"

"Dean."

"What? He's annoying."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've been called worse. And if you want me to listen to you, then answer this. Why were you asking about sulfur?" As crazy as he had first found them to be, there did end up being sulfur at the crime scene, and he was curious as to its significance.

Sam answered this time. "Sulfur, it means there was a demon nearby. That's why we're here. Hunting demons and stuff like that is what we do. We thinking that this, Moriarty, is our kind of thing."

"And why should I believe to you?" Sherlock retorted.

"Because, smart guy," Dean answered back. "If you don't, you're gonna get yourself into something bigger than you could ever understand. You think you can tell when people lie? Look me in the eyes, and tell me that I'm lying to you."

Sherlock did have to admit that Sam and Dean did not appear to be lying, but that didn't mean that they weren't insane.

"Look," Sam stepped in. "We know how crazy all this sounds, and we're not asking you to forget about Moriarty, but just give us some time for us to do what we do best. Once we're done, whatever that might mean, you won't have to think about us, or anything we said ever again."

There was something much more genuine and kind in Sam's nature, as opposed to Dean's. He was rational, a quality madmen didn't often possess. "I suppose I could put a small delay in my investigations, but to keep up appearances, I will have to act otherwise. I will give you a week."

Sam gave Sherlock a sincere smile. "Thank you."

"Here." Dean was apparently less grateful, shoving a while card in Sherlock's hands. "Call us if you hear anything, or we might call you when this is all over. Or if it ends up being your type of thing."

Deep down, Dean knew it was, but he hated knowing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak Peek from next chapter: "Heroes, how he abhors them so. Although, Moriarty was rather excited to… acquaint himself with these ones."
> 
> Next chapter will contain torture so fair warning.


	3. In the Devil's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty has learned a lot about the Winchesters... Particularly their weaknesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Torture and graphic violence in this chapter.
> 
> Now, who's up for plot twists? Everyone is? Good!

"This is impossible!" Sam huffed out in irritation as he shoved his laptop away from himself.

Dean shut the door behind him after returning with their food. "Well hello to you too."

Sam let out a long, tired sigh. "I've been trying to find something, hell, anything on Moriarty's network, but now that he's a demon, pretty sure his network got upgraded too. I got no clue how to track him, or even know where to start."

"You don't have to. I found something."

Sam's head shot up. "What? How?"

"That worker from the video place called me. He noticed how one of his co-workers went missing, so I stopped by and-"

"You did all of this in like twenty minutes?"

Dean stared at Sam as though he had started speaking in tongues. "Dude, I've been gone for like three hours. You seriously didn't notice?"

"Well… I've been busy. Lost track of time I guess."

Dean could help but grin at his little brother's nerdiness. "Yeah, guess so. Anyway, the guy gave me a picture of the missing worker. When I went to pick up the food, I started asking around. Someone there had seen him around Manchester."

"Think a demon used his body to play the message, and then took it back to Moriarty to work for him?"

"Sounds like it. Think we should check it out?" Dean started to head back towards the door.

"Uh, actually I don't."

Dean froze mid-step, and turned back to Sam. "And why not?"

"Dean, we still have no idea what we're going up against. He's got an unlimited number of humans, and potentially demons working for him. We got no clue what we'd be walking into."

"You said we were gonna wait for a lead, and guess what? We got one, so what are we waiting for?"

"We both know that Moriarty is our biggest problem. We should take care of him and then his network should fall apart without him."

"'Should?' Sammy, I'm gonna need more than that. We know where this guy is, so we go check the place out, and if it's too much then we'll head back and figure out something else."

Sam still wasn't convinced. "That's a pretty weak plan, Dean."

"It's better than sitting around doing nothing."

Sam knew Dean, and he knew Dean was going to go to Manchester regardless of what Sam thought, and would undoubtedly get himself into trouble. "Alright, fine. We'll scope the place out."

Dean smiled a victorious grin. "Awesome. Get the weapons ready from the trunk. I'll take care of our stuff in here."

"Okay." Sam agreed as he headed for the door. He still didn't like this plan, but he was willing to overlook it to prove that he was not just a hunter, but still Dean's brother. Sam had no idea what this soulless version of him had done, and he was eager, borderline desperate, to regain Dean's trust.

As he started gathering the weapons out of the trunk, he had but a second when he felt a presence lurking behind him, before a rag was promptly thrown over his nose and mouth. There was a sweet scent forcing its way into Sam's lungs, and his mind screamed, _"Chloroform."_

He tried to kick back with his legs, but whatever drug was on the rag worked fast. He started shouting Dean's name, but it was too muffled and weak to be audible. His futile thrashing finally started to die down, and he thought of Dean on last time, before darkness was all he knew.

Dean had finished gathering up their things, slung it all over his shoulders, and stepped back outside towards the Impala. "Sam, you ready to-"

The bags slipped from his shoulders as everything else in the world suddenly lost all meaning, except for one thing. Sam was gone. "Sam?" Maybe he was just out of view behind the car. It-it could be that simple, right? Except Sam's head didn't pop up. He didn't answer Dean's calls for him. Now Dean was panicking. "Sammy? SAM!"

* * *

"Sir?" The man, the same one Sam and Dean had been searching for, timidly asked his new boss. Master was probably more fitting, though.

Moriarty turned to his employee, grinning at the prone body the man had brought with him. "Yes? Have you done your part?"

The man nodded, either that or that was truly how badly he was trembling. "Yes I-I found the guy you wanted. Now, pl-please let me go home. I-I have a family."

"I suppose you've served me well. You're free to go."

The man had a relived smile, a smile that was permanently etched onto his face as an invisible forced snapped his neck. Sam Winchester's body slumped over with no one holding it up anymore, and he grunted in his unconscious state as his body hit the ground.

From what Moran had told Moriarty about the Winchesters, he had learned that they're overly protective of one another. Dean was the eldest, he was rash, a ladies man, believed himself to be funny, rumoured to be an excellent torturer, and so willing to sacrifice himself for his family that it was actually irritating to listen to. Sam was more calm, clearly the smarter one, absolutely horrible luck with women, jumped into hell to save the world, and spent a hundred years as the devil's chew toy. Heroes, how he abhors them so. Although, Moriarty was rather excited to… acquaint himself with these ones.

But before he could do so, he had to make sure that little Sammy didn't wander off during their conversation. That would be rude, now wouldn't it? Moriarty motioned for two of his men to secure the boy to the chair in the centre of the room. Sam's face scrunched up in silent protest as he was hefted on the chair. It was metal, and adorned with leather straps that went over one's wrists, arms, feet, chest, and waist. And it was even adjustable. How quaint is that? There was also an additional strap that could go over a victim's mouth, but Moriarty left that one off, for the time being anyway.

Moriarty waited patiently for Sam to wake up. The poor boy had been chloroformed, what kind of host would Moriarty be to disturb his slumber? It also gave him plenty of time to think about how to entertain his guest. Moran had showed him so many new methods of keeping one's self busy, and acquiring information.

Speaking of Moran, there was the warning of flickering lights, and then Moran was beside him. "Oh, brilliant." Moran congratulated at the sight of Sam tied to the chair. "You plan on starting in on him any time soon?"

"He hasn't even awoken yet."

Moran sauntered over to Sam's limp form, and roughly slapped him until Sam's eyes started darting beneath their lids, and he groaned. "See? Now he's awake."

Sam fluttered his eyes open to a situation he was all too familiar with. Restrained in an unknown location, two figures looming over him, no doubt that torture was to follow. Both men wore suits, and not the cheap kind that he and his brother used, but traditional business suits. Sam knew one of them to be Moriarty, the other he assumed was Moran, or whatever demon was using his body. Moriarty wore a cheerful smile as though he and Sam were old friends. Moran had a dark grin, almost certainly looking forward to the pain he knew Sam was going to be put through.

"Go on, James. Show me what you've learned."

Sam motionlessly steeled himself, but it ended up being unnecessary. "I've not even properly introduced myself. I'll let you know when things get interesting. Although, you may be able to figure it out yourself."

Meaning when he hears Sam screaming. Yeah, that was gonna happen.

Moran gave Moriarty a proud father look. "I look forward to it." With a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

"I'm very pleased to meet you in person, Sam. My partner has told me so much about you and your brother."

Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Only good things, I'm sure."

"He's told me all about your and Dean's hell trips. I'm sure mine wasn't nearly was interesting as yours."

"From what I've heard about you, I'm sure you're worthy of my hell." Not that Sam actually remembered it.

"Oh, so you have heard about me." Oh, God, was Moriarty blushing right now? "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You really shouldn't." Sam snorted.

Instead of getting annoyed, or angry, or anything of the like, Moriarty's expression just turned even more casual, and he freaking giggled. "I hope your brother's as entertaining as you are."

Now _that_ got a reaction out of Sam. Not an extremely obvious one, but a reaction nonetheless. His eyes narrowed angrily at the mention of his brother, a wordless warning to Moriarty to not lay a finger on Dean.

"Oh no, not the scary face. Now I'm trembling." Moriarty chuckled at himself. "My lovely new partner has told me all about how you boys work. For instance," Sam saw a flick of silver, and knowingly dreaded its use. "If your dear brother was around and I were to do this," Sam felt a burning stabbing pain in his gut as the knife made its way through. He managed to let out only a small grunt. "It would hurt him more than it does you, correct?"

"Why don't you go back to hell?" Sam ground out through gritted teeth.

"While we're on the topic of Dean," Moriarty continued, ignoring Sam's outburst. "Think we should invite him to join us? I don't believe that it's quite the same without him here."

Sam opened his mouth to yell at Moriarty to leave his brother alone, but a sudden wide leather strap hindered his efforts. The most he was able to do now was glare, and he glared with for all he was worth.

Moriarty pulled out his phone, no, that was Sam's phone. Great, even better. He had no trouble finding Dean's name in his contacts. He flashed Sam a smile similar to a teenage girl's when she was about to call her crush. He put it on speaker phone, and seconds later Sam heard Dean's panicked voice on the other end.

" _Sammy! Where are you?"_

"Dean. It's so wonderful to put a voice to the stories. Quite the hero complex you have. Such a shame you fight for the angels."

" _What did you do with my brother? Who is this?"_

"Oh, this is Jim Moriarty. I hear you've been looking for me. Well, hello!"

" _Where's Sam?!"_

"Don't worry, dear Sammy's right here." Moriarty turned towards him. "Aren't you, Sam?"

If Sam wasn't gagged he'd be screaming at Dean not to come, but since he was, he remained silent, knowing his muffled nonsense would only further encourage Dean to come rushing to him.

"Come now, Sam, don't be rude. Say hello to your brother."

There was an abrupt, deep, probing pain in Sam's stomach, and it took him a moment to realize that he was screaming. Even though it was muffled, he knew Dean was able to hear him. His mind eventually told him that the source of his pain was Moriarty's fingers slowly forcing their way through the cut he had made minutes before. The smallest twitch of his fingers made Sam's eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

Sam felt his back arch uncontrollably, which only allowed Moriarty's hand to sink deeper into the wound. His constant screaming only made everything hurt worse, but he found himself incapable of stopping. He distantly heard Dean shouting for him, but the agony overpowered almost everything else. He was finally able to bring down his screams to whimpering pants, even though it wasn't a much better alternative.

" _Sammy! You son of a bitch, leave him alone!"_

"I'll text you an address where you can come join us. Do hurry though, Sam says he misses you." With that, he tightened his fist inside Sam's stomach, eliciting one last muffled scream from him, before hanging up the phone.

"Good news, Sam," Moriarty announced eagerly, his hand still stationed in Sam's gut. "Dean's on his way, isn't that sweet of him? Oh, silly me, I forgot to text him. I'm going to need my hand back."

That was the only warning Sam got before Moriarty ripped his hand out, leaving Sam arching on the chair, and panting through his nose.

"Did I hear screaming?" Moran asked excitedly as he reappeared beside Moriarty.

"Such a shame, actually. You just missed the good part. I suppose, I could just do it again."

Sam felt his eyes widen in panic, and his face silently start pleading for him not to have to go through that torture again.

Moran grinned at the fear in Sam's eyes, and chuckled as he took the strap off Sam's mouth. "Fancy a chat? By which I mean, care to start begging now?"

Not trusting his voice not to crack, Sam said nothing. He already hated himself for being so weak before.

"Alright then. Guess we'll just proceed with the plan."

Sam found his voice again. "What are you talking about?"

Moriarty's back was facing Sam, but Sam distinctly heard the sound of metal clanking against metal. "I'm curious, Sam."

Sam swallowed, feeling his heartbeat quickening. "About what?" He swore he could smell smoke.

"You and your brother. Moran can only tell me so much about you boys."

"It's true." Moran confirmed. "Even for as long as I've known you, there's only so much I can tell him."

Confused, Sam's face scrunched up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Moran suddenly burst out laughing. "I-I'm sorry, I've just gotten so used to this body that I forget it's not my usual one." Moran's eyes flashed red with a dark grin. "Recognize me now, Moose?"

No it-it couldn't be… "Cr-Crowley?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were warned.


	4. There's Chaos on the Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty doesn't have to lay a finger on Sam to learn all his and Dean's secrets. When Sam's wall is put at risk, what can he do, but hope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that warning I gave about possession? Well, here's the chapter why.

"The one and only, Moose. I'm sure you missed me."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "No-no, you- you can't be here. You're dead."

"Oh, am I now?" Moran- Crowley's face feigned surprise. "I suppose you won't feel this, then." The deep agony returned, Crowley's hand wrist deep in Sam's stomach, twisting, and stretching his insides. There was no gag to muffle him this time, so Sam's agonized scream was completely free, and ripped freely from his throat. "Oh, so you do feel it? Guess I'm not dead, then." Gratefully, the hand was taken out, Crowley's chuckle echoing in Sam's mind.

Sam croaked out only one of the words he had wanted to say. "H-how…?"

"Dear Cassie burned the wrong bones. He makes mistakes too, apparently. You'd know all about those, wouldn't you?"

Sam only groaned in response.

"I had no idea you two were old friends." Moriarty said.

"Oh, yes." Crowley explained with a smile. "Moose and I go way back, don't we?" He gave Sam's face a light slap, and Sam jerked his head away.

"How lovely. Now, like I said, I want to know everything about you and your brother." Moriarty turned around, wielding a poker, white hot at the tip.

Intimidation was a tactic Sam knew well, on both the receiving and giving end. But when he knew that giving into it would hurt his brother, there was no way he was going to say anything. "I'm not telling you a damn thing." Sam was determined.

"Did I ask you to tell me anything?" Moriarty's eyes didn't have to go black for them to darken completely. Sam was so caught up in Moriarty's expression that he didn't even know the poker had moved until he felt a burning sensation in his chest, followed by the sound of his skin crackling. He felt his muscles tense, and fight the straps that held them down. He managed only to pant heavily through the pain this time. "Now let's see what you've been up to."

What was he talking about? How could he possibly- no… No, he- he couldn't have. Sam looked down at his chest in a panic, begging for his thoughts to be proved wrong.

They weren't. His anti-possession tattoo had been burned off. He allowed himself a moment of weakness. "N-no, don't."

"Moran, or Crowley I suppose, did say you had a little possession PTSD. Don't worry," Moriarty leaned in toward Sam's face, disturbingly close. "I'll be gentle."'

Black smoke spewed out of Moriarty's mouth, and descended down on Sam, who was now struggling wildly, and futilely. He gagged and choked as the smoke forced its way down his throat. Coughing and shaking his head did nothing to stop it, and Sam felt all too helpless.

" _You took down the devil."_ Sam screamed at himself in his head. _"You can stop some dumb-ass demon."_

"Actually," Sam heard his voice, which he no longer had control over, say. "It looks like you only did that because he- excuse me, you- were about to kill Dean. Think you'd be able to do that again, should the matter present itself?"

" _G-get the hell out of my head!"_ He could feel himself starting to lose complete control, both over his body, and his mind. He could almost feel Moriarty forcing his way into his thoughts, and looking through every single one.

"Now, not that's exactly my place to judge, Sam," Moriarty commented. "But most people don't have a wall erected in their heads. Have you ever thought about consulting a doctor about that?"

The wall. Oh, God, Moriarty could see the wall. Which means… Sam would have swallowed if he could have. Which means he could probably break it down.

"And it's not a very sturdy wall either, might I add. It's already cracking and beginning to chip. I'm sure one little touch would just crumble it completely." Crowley had told Moriarty all about the wall, and exactly what rested behind it. He heard Sam's voice quiver in his head.

" _D-don't."_

Moriarty grinned with Sam's mouth. "Don't what?"

" _Don't touch the wall."_

"Beg." He felt Sam, the real Sam, flinch from the dark corner of his mind he had been shoved into.

" _Wh-What?"_

"Beg me, and maybe I won't."

There weren't many options. Sam was a Winchester, and Winchesters didn't beg, but he couldn't let that wall fall. God only knows what it would do to him, and how would Dean deal with him like that? So he had no choice but to cave. _"Pl-please."_

"Please what, Sam?"

Please get the hell out was what Sam wanted to scream, he wanted to scream in anger, but his fear betrayed him. _"Please don't touch the wall. I-I won't fight you."_ How Sam wished he was lying. _"J-Just please… Leave the wall alone."_ Dean would hate him for this.

Sam's mouth curled into a satisfied grin without his consent. "I suppose that sounds fair enough. But, I'm not entirely inclined to take your word for it. Moran, if you would."

Crowley reached over and fastened the leather gag against Sam's mouth, and Moriarty grinned underneath it.

"Let Sam take the wheel for now. I want to see the fear in his eyes."

Control was finally returned to Sam, and he wasn't able to hide the panic.

"There it is." Crowley smirked. "I can't wait for Squirrel to show up. We're all going to have a lovely time together."

* * *

Sherlock paced about the flat, trying to conjure up any other reason for Moriarty's return, without turning to the supernatural. He heard a sound like the rustling of paper, only lighter, and more delicate. There was suddenly a deep voice, almost thundering, in the room.

"Hello, Sherlock Holmes."

He turned toward the voice, and was impressed by someone other than himself for once. The man had black hair with piercing blue eyes, and a long tan trench-coat. The most intriguing thing about him though was the black feathery wings sprouting from his back, and casting a shadow on Sherlock's wall.

"I take it I should assume that you're some kind of angel?"

"My name is Castiel, and I need your help."

A supposed angel asking for his help. Moriarty's metaphor was starting to become a lot more literal. "I don't-"

"There is not time for you to protest. The Winchesters are in danger."

"Were those the two idiots who tried to convince me that Moriarty had returned as a demon?"

"Yes, they are, and I assure you, Moriarty is a demon. And he is currently working with Crowley, the king of Hell. They have taken Sam."

"If you truly are an angel, can you not deal with them on your own?"

"You are one of the few humans with enough intelligence to perceive my wings, you cannot deny what I am. I want nothing more than to rescue the Winchesters myself, but Crowley and Moriarty have warded where they are holding Sam against angels. I can do nothing. You, however, you can get past the warding and stop the demons." Castiel didn't enjoy putting a human's life at risk, but there was nothing else he could do. He wasn't even able to find Dean to warn him with the Enochian on his ribs. Sherlock was his only hope.

Sherlock looked at the man. He was still not completely convinced, but what could be the harm if he listened to him? "What is it you need me to do?"

* * *

Never had the Impala been so slow. Even at seventy miles per hour, she might as well have had four flat tires, and no gas. Sammy was in trouble, so his car couldn't ever possibly be fast enough.

Why did Manchester seem to be a continent away? Dean knew he would be heading toward an isolated location, most likely some kind of warehouse where Moriarty wouldn't be found.

" _Where no one would have heard Sam scream."_

Dean nearly punched the steering wheel at that thought. Finally, he swerved the Impala into an abandoned lot around the address Moriarty had sent him. The bastard had even sent a smiley face at the end of the text. The car had barely come to a stop when Dean leapt out. Sam had been in the midst of packing their weapons, which Dean was looking forward to using, when he was taken. So Dean grabbed what was left, and readied himself to end this son of a bitch's life… After life. Whatever the hell it was.

He saw two men standing guard outside the warehouse, both staring ahead in a dead stare, unaware of Dean's presence. Back roads did have their advantages. He snuck up behind one of the men, and made quick work of stabbing them both with the demon killing knife. Only one of their faces sparked orange. No one else came to attack him, so Dean stepped inside the warehouse.

Typical bad guy hideout. Dirty, secluded, but it was disturbingly empty, except for one prone figure bound to a chair in the middle of the room.

"Sammy." Dean said in relief.

Sam's head snapped up toward Dean, and his eyes were wide in terror. He furiously shook his head at Dean, and frantically shouted behind the gag someone had placed on him. His eyes kept darting down to his chest as though he was trying to give some kind of warning.

Keeping his guard up, Dean started moving to Sam. "Are you hurt?"

Sam's struggles seemed to increase as Dean came closer, continuously shaking his head in complete and utter panic.

Dean tore the gag off, and that was when he saw the burn on Sam's chest. _"Sam's tattoo. He- he couldn't be."_

Fighting the power Moriarty was using to push Sam to the back of his mind once again, Sam managed to yell out one word in warning before it was too late. "Cr-Crowley!" And then he lost control.

Being telekinetically slammed into a wall stopped any questions Dean would have tried to ask. Sam sat up in the chair, snapping each of the straps that had held him down, grinning all the while. "That was rather cheat-ish of Sam, don't you think, Dean?" Sam's eyes went black.

A new figure stepped out of the shadows, his eyes glowing red. "Hello, Squirrel."

That was what Sam had meant. "Thought we burned your ass to a crisp."

"Guess you didn't." Crowley said with a chuckle. "I've got to say, I do miss my old suit, but I do rather enjoy having a partner."

"As do I." Moriarty agreed on a tone that was so not-Sam. There was even the slightest hint of an accent slipping through. "It's been quite a pleasant experience."

Those guys could sure kiss each other's asses. Dean used the distraction to start hurrying through an exorcism. Both men started holding their heads in pain as black and red smoke began working its way out of their throats.

"I-I wouldn't i-if I were you." Moriarty choked out. Dean couldn't help but flinch at hearing Sam's voice in pain like that, but it didn't put him off enough to stop him.

It became Crowley's turn to sputter something out. "Th-the wall."

Now Dean stopped. With Sam being possessed, could they really break down the wall like that? It was a risk Dean couldn't bring himself to take, and he stopped the exorcism.

Crowley was the first to smile. "That's better." His hand fisted, and Dean's throat became clogged with blood in answer to the motion, along with a stabbing pain in his gut. "Here's what's going to happen," Crowley explained, not at all easing up on his invisible grip. "My dear partner and I are going to take our sweet time finishing you off, and Moriarty digging around in little Sammy's head is going to keep you in check. Got it?"

Instead of responding in words, Dean could only hack up more blood as an answer.

"I have a rather different plan in mind." That voice was neither Sam's, nor Crowley's. It sounded like- No, it- it couldn't be.

"Sherlock?" Dean ground out in wonder. He was even more astounded when Sherlock began reading an exorcism off a paper he held out in front of him. He was abruptly silenced when Sam flicked his hand and sent him to the wall, making him drop the exorcism.

"Sherlock." Sam greeted, but that tone was far too familiar to be Sam's. "You still recognize me, don't you?"

"Moriarty." Sherlock realised. "I suppose these boys were right about you, weren't they? You're not human anymore."

"I'm not? Whatever could have given me away?" Sam chuckled in a voice that sounded nothing like his own laugh. It was honestly more of a giggle, and it sounded so wrong coming from Sam's mouth. "I've been waiting to see you. I kept sending you messages. Why didn't you call me back?"

"You bore me looking like this. You're hardly even you right now."

"It's insurance." Crowley stepped in. "This way Dean won't risk hurting his brother."

The exorcism started up again in a different voice.

"J-John." Moriarty hissed, his eyes- Sam's eyes- going black.

Crowley lifted his hand and twisted it, causing John's air to stop in his throat. As Crowley fixated his attention on John, Dean was freed from his hold, and picked up the exorcism from where John had left off.

Moriarty practically growled in warning. "S-Sammy's wall, re-remem-" His head began twitching and shaking. "N-no!" He suddenly looked up at Dean, his eyes going soft. "D-Dean, hurry!"

"Sammy?" Dean paused the exorcism again.

Sam's face pleaded with him. "G-go!"

"Well," Crowley could sense that things were not about to end well for him. "I'm out." Red smoke poured from Moran's mouth, and darted towards the window, before bouncing directly off it and being forced back into Moran's body. "What?!"

"That," Sherlock explained over the sounds of Dean's exorcism. "Is courtesy of Castiel. He may not have been able to penetrate this building's walls, but he did manage to make a rather impressive devils' trap around it.

"He what?" Crowley shouted. "We had a-!" The sentence was cut off with a retch as more red smoke was coughed up from his body. He looked over at Sam to see him in the same state. The wound Moriarty had created earlier in Sam's stomach too had smoke oozing out of it. Moriarty was apparently weakened when Sam had retaken control, and he was incapable of breaking the wall now. As much as Crowley hated to admit it, they were screwed, and they weren't getting out. "I-I'll be back." That was the last thing he said before all demonic smoke was forced out.

Dean watched red smoke seep through the floor, and sink back into the deep corners of Hell Crowley deserved to rot in. As soon as he was completely released from Crowley's power, he rushed over to Sam. Too many times he had watched his little brother be possessed, and he knew Moriarty spilling from Sam's gut wound had definitely made things worse.

Sam had fallen to the ground as Moriarty was completely expelled, yelping as his crash to the ground jarred his injury, still steadily trickling out blood. He felt Dean sit down beside him and rip his jacket off. Sam knew what was coming, but he still groaned while Dean applied pressure to the wound.

"That's going to need stitches." John too had gone over to check on Sam.

"Yeah, I know. Done this once or twice before." Dean said, probably harsher than he had to. "Who exactly are you, anyway?"

" _Doctor_ John Watson. I've done this once or twice myself."

Crap, now Dean was embarrassed. "I got Sam. You should go check on Sherlock. He's probably not as used to getting hurled into walls as I am."

John nodded and went over to Sherlock. "You alright?"

"Fine, John." Sherlock answered. John may have secretly been hoping that the blow would have knocked Sherlock asshole-ishness right out of him. Unfortunately, that didn't appear to be the case. Sherlock brought a hand up to his dark coloured hair, and felt a decent sized jump on the back of his head. He's definitely had worse.

" _Sure you didn't dent your cheekbones?"_ Dean thought bitterly. _"Yeah, don't mind me and my bleeding out brother over here."_

"Sammy, just look at me, alright? Promise, it's not that bad." Both the Winchesters knew that the wound wasn't really the problem. Dean had often joked about Sam being a magnet for the supernatural, but he hadn't meant for the magnet thing to be quite so literal. Sam was tough though. Dean had to constantly remind himself that. If Sam could shove Moriarty to the back of his head, then he could get over the fact that he had been possessed… Again. "Think you can make it back to the hotel?"

"You're not taking him to a hospital?" John asked in surprise.

"We don't do hospitals."

"At least let me help him. I can fix him up a lot easier if we go back to Sherlock's flat. I have everything we would need set up there already."

"Look, I aprreci-"

"I just bloody exorcised a demon! I'm barely used to all the serial killers I deal with, and now I have all this to worry about? If you don't mind, I'd like to deal with something I actually understand now."

Damn, there was a lot of rage in that tiny body. "Alright, fine, but we damn well better hurry."

Sam grumbled. "Stop mother-henning me…"

" _Never."_ Dean thought with a smile.

* * *

"You bloody bastard!" Crowley screeched. After one of his followers had summoned him back to his body, dealing with Castiel was his first priority. "We had an arrangement!"

"And part of that arrangement was you not laying a finger on the Winchesters." Castiel pointed out. "You broke your part of the deal, so I broke mine."

The stupid angel was learning, damn him. "Fine, I won't touch your precious boys again. Now that I've been to hell and back, are we even? I'd like to get back to the way things were before."

"If you touch a hair on their heads again-"

"Blah, blah, blah. Yes, I know. Now go on, run to your boys. I'm sure they've been missing you. If only they knew the truth..."

Castiel shot Crowley a glare in warning, and then he was gone.

"Pleasure, as always."

* * *

"There. You're done." John finished stitching Sam up, a lot more gently than Dean usually was. Must be handy living with a doctor.

"Thank you." Sam's stomach still hurt, but at least now he wasn't going to bleed out. "So, you guys gonna be okay?"

"Why not?" Sherlock scoffed. "I just sent James Moriarty back to hell along with the King himself. Why wouldn't we be?"

"You realize your question just answered itself, right?" John pointed out.

"Alright, well," Sam stood up and started heading for the door. "Thanks for everything. We really couldn't have done it without you guys."

"No, you couldn't have." Sherlock agreed without looking up. He was promptly elbowed by John. "… You're welcome."

"Hey, if you ever need us again-"

"Yes, I have your number." Sherlock finished for him.

" _How are you still such an ass?"_ Dean grumbled inwardly. "C'mon, Sammy." Before they both walked out the door, Dean added one last thing. "If you're lucky, you won't ever have to see us again." _"And if we're lucky, we'll never have to deal with you again."_

Neither of them were ever lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends our little adventure. I left the ending kind of open like that on purpose in case I want to add a sequel later. Hope you guys enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapters are always the hardest for me, so sorry if it's kind of rushed. Hope you're enjoying, and I'll see you soon with the next chapter!


End file.
